


An Unwilling Treasure

by Lady_Phenyx



Series: Whumptober 2019 [12]
Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Captivity, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Kidnapping, Mymlan | The Mymble to the Rescue, ask to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 15:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20968502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Phenyx/pseuds/Lady_Phenyx
Summary: Joxter was heading back from his travels when his worst nightmare came true.Except he'd never expected it to go quite like this...Whumptober Day 9: Shackled





	An Unwilling Treasure

Joxter groaned, shaking his head. Ugh, what happened? He'd been on his way home to visit his dear Mymble and all the children, and of course to visit his son and Snufkin's mates and Moominpappa and Moominmamma, he remembered that, but then...

There's been someone behind him, and a noise, and then nothing, but oh, his head hurt so badly it was hard to think...

He moved to hold his head and froze.

There was the sound of chains when he moved, and something cold around his wrists, and he couldn't lower his arms.

Instinctively, he pulled against them, straining to see what was binding him. He fought the chains, thrashing and struggling to be free. There was no thought involved, nothing but a desperate need for freedom, to get them off, even as the shackles around his wrists bit into his skin, ignored in the panic that overtook his entire being.

Joxter didn't, couldn't, stop for several long, terrified minutes. As he tired and sense began to return, he hung from the shackles, panting.

But his head was clearer, now, able to think his situation through.

He was on his knees, in a cage of some sort, his paws shackled to chains attached to the top bars of the cage, to the bar where top met sides, welded to that bar. There was a collar around his throat, chained to the back of the cage, a much longer chain than the ones on his wrists, and shackles on his ankles, chained to the bars again.

...the collar and ankle shackles were overkill, especially with the length of chain on the collar.

What could he possibly have done that warranted this much arresting? He'd been so focused on getting home he hadn't even been doing much more than walking! He'd even ignored a park! And all the signs decorating it! Did anyone have any idea how much focus, how distracted by his goal, he had to be to ignore a park and its signs?

He'd never done anything that warranted this much arresting, no matter what some fussy hemulens or prissy fillyjonks said!

Joxter was a little ashamed of his panic now, but just barely. He was meant to be free, he wasn't going to, what, apologize? For waking and finding himself tied like this and panicking over it?

Someone was going to apologize for this, and for scaring him so badly, but it wasn't Joxter.

Joxter pulled against the shackles again, more carefully this time, testingly, though if they hadn't given at all during his panicked struggles than it was unlikely there was a weakness in them to exploit.

His wrists felt sore and bruised, and he accepted that consequence of his panicked struggles. There was something strange about the shackles, but he couldn't quite make it out. Something that hinted he wasn't in a regular prison, despite the chains. Perhaps even because of them, given how very chained he was.

If only the room wasn't so dim! He had extraordinarily good night vision, but there were limits, and details were one of them.

But the metal, though it was firm and unyielding, was lighter than he expected. Certainly not iron.

Joxter folded his paw, trying to squeeze it through the shackle. Most people underestimated how small a mumrik like him could fold themselves, like the cats they resembled, and so put him in bindings too loose.

No luck. All he had in the end was a scraped paw that got stuck for a painful few minutes in the shackle, unable to go any further.

And he couldn't reach one paw with the other to help.

Frustrated, Joxter hung from the shackles. Until he had some idea what was going on, he had no real choice but to, well, hang out and wait.

He may have been good at going with the flow, but being forced into it set his teeth on edge, and being tied and caged...he wanted to rage, throw himself against the chains, screech and fight.

But it would get him nowhere, and despite the way his stomach was taking up lodging in his throat, the way his limbs trembled with the need for freedom, the desperate need to stand, the way the bars seemed to be closer each time he blinked, the cage that much smaller, all he could do was wait.

\---XXX---

Joxter woke from a light doze at the sound of a key in a lock.

He barely opened his eyes, faking still being unconscious as the door creaked open.

Then lights flared on and he couldn't stop his head from shooting up, staring around himself in shock.

Joxter had assumed – not unreasonably – that he was in some sort of jail. Not a normal one, but a jail nevertheless. That was what normally happened when he was caught and tied up...unless it was Mymble, which was a path he needed his thoughts to stay away from right now.

This was not a jail.

If anything, it was some sort of...of treasure room, of hoard, Joxter wasn't sure what.

Everything was plush, covered in what looked to his generally uncaring eye to be silks or velvets. There were caskets of jewels, of gold, statues and vases and porcelain and who knew what, all of it looking expensive.

It might have been pretty, if it were just some of it, but with all of it piled together it was less a pretty display and more a dragon's hoard of greed.

With Joxter's cage in the center of it all.

Joxter took a moment to glance over the cage, grimacing. It was as overly decorated as the rest of the room, if sturdy, the decorations covering up the sturdy iron bars but not weakening them.

At the door stood a Hemulen, dressed to the nines and holding an ornamental cane.

He strode across the room, the cane clicking against the floor with every other step, until he stood in front of the Joxter. His head tilted to the side as he surveyed his captive greedily, smugly, the smile tilting towards a smirk at Joxter's angered glare.

There was silence as the two stared at each other, before Joxter broke it.

“What the hell is this?”

“Ah, such a lovely voice,” the hemulen exclaimed in delight. “Even more melodious than I thought it would be. Still. Language,” he scolded. “I'm not surprised you don't know me, but I know you. I've seen you passing through, heard you playing music as you went. And knew I was seeing something rare and valuable.”

The cane reached through the bars and tipped up Joxter's chin, letting the hemulen look him over. “You're even prettier up close. I was never able to get a proper look before. Oh, but look what you've done to your wrists,” he tutted. “You aren't as valuable when you're wounded, you really need to take better care of yourself. What a lucky break for you, that I've chosen to undertake the task.”

Joxter snorted. “I'm an adult,” he said. “I don't need a caretaker.”

The hemulen glanced over the Joxter and grimaced. “Judging by the state of your, ah, wardrobe, you most certainly do. A creature as lovely as you are should be in appropriate settings. Not these...” The cane lowered, flicking at Joxter's smock. “...rags.”

“...the hell?” Joxter snarled. “I'm a vagabond. A traveler. I'm not...”

“But you are,” the humulen assured him. “Rare, and lovely. I understand the transition may be a bit difficult for you,” he said, cane clicking firmly on the floor as it was planted in front of him, as if counting on the prop to confer authority, “but you won't regret it. So long as you are obedient and calm and quiet, then you will be allowed the run of these rooms, as part of my collection. Until then, you shall have to remain caged. Behave, and conditions shall improve.”

Joxter snarled. “You can't cage a mumrik,” he said.

The hemulen smiled faintly. “It would seem I already have.”

“We don't last in captivity,” Joxter explained, almost mockingly. “We fight, and we fight, until we lose hope of being free, and then we fade and eventually, we die.”

“A legend, a folktale used by your kind to keep you out of the paws of collectors like myself,” the hemulen said firmly, though a touch of uncertainty lingered below the words. “It makes you all the more desirable. And I shall be sure to keep you where you cannot harm yourself to give it credence, so don't get any ideas.”

He turned, adding over his shoulder, “Servants will be by shortly with bandages and your supper. Misbehavior and attempted escape shall be punished harshly.”

\---XXX---

Joxter was ready to scream.

He had screamed, two nights into this captivity, screamed and raged, fighting the shackles with every bit of strength he had as being caged, being chained, finally took its toll.

Lazy he may have been, unmoving for hours at times, but that was by his own choice. This was torture, disguised as care, and he tore up wrists, ankles, throat fighting for escape, a madness that lasted until his body gave out in exhaustion, longer, more mindless, than his initial panic, until he slumped against the chains in the welcome darkness of unconsciousness.

He had screamed, had wailed, had sobbed and begged, he wasn't sure what all he had said in desperation. During it, he would have, could have, said anything to get out.

Tears were trickling down his cheeks now, as he hung in the chains, unwelcome consciousness returning.

He was never going to get out of here, was he? He was going to break, and start to fade, just like he'd always heard mumriks did when they were trapped.

And no one he loved was going to have an idea what had happened to him.

No, no, he had to think. Joxter closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Just...try to think. People thought that because he was lazy, he was stupid as well, but it wasn't true. He'd been running on emotion, pride and fear, these past three days. It was past time to think.

\---XXX---

The door to the treasure room clicked open, the hemulen stepping inside with the distinctive click of his cane.

Joxter did his best to look pathetic – not difficult, given how disheveled he was from his fit of last night, from three days in this cage, with the tears that still trickled from his eyes.

He didn't raise his head as the hemulen came closer, slumped weakly in his chains.

The tip of a cane came into the cage, tilting up his face.

“Please.” It was little more than a whisper, yet it seemed to ring through the air.

The hemulen smiled, smugly triumphant. “Ah, poor little mumrik. Have you learned your lesson? Are you going to be a good boy?”

Joxter let his eyes slide shut, another tear sliding down his cheek as he nodded.

The hemulen turned, pulling back the cane, and Joxter projected defeat as strongly as he could.

One of the strong creatures who'd been guarding Joxter over the past few days entered. A few quick words from the hemulen and the chains were taken from the shackles, his wrists chained together in front of him instead, a longer chain connecting his feet, and the chain to the collar replaced with a leash.

Which was placed in the hemulen's paw.

The cage door was opened, and the hemulen tugged gently on the leash. “Now, you can't think I'd let you have the run of the place that quickly,” he laughed, the gentleness of the laughter more painful than mockery. “Come now, you must be stiff. Let's take a little walk, and I'll show you where you'll be staying for the time being.”

\---XXX---

Joxter found that life on the leash was almost as bad as life in the cage.

The hemulen expected him to meekly follow wherever he went, paws still shackled in front of him and ankles chained.

There was barely a moment to himself, a torture no one here would understand. And wouldn't care, as leaving him alone could give him a moment to escape.

So Joxter continued to bide his time as the first day, the second, into the third, ticked past. He had to grit his teeth, hating every moment of it as the hemulen showed him off, forced him into a new wardrobe, discussed a new collar, as if he were some sort of pet.

He could feel the hopelessness threatening, and sometimes wondered why he fought it off, why he didn't just start fading.

Except...Mymblemamma, and the children, Snufkin and the rest. He'd disappeared on them once, he couldn't do it again. He'd promised he wouldn't do it again.

He couldn't give up so quickly, no matter how hopeless it seemed.

It was hard to believe he was going to get away, no matter how docile he pretended to be, when he was still in chains. When there was still a collar around his throat, chained to the desk the hemulen was working at, though long enough he was able to sit on the other side of the room.

They both jumped at the heavy, resounding, impatient knocking at the manor's door.

“No one's supposed to be here tonight...” the hemulen muttered. He glanced at Joxter, and Joxter could see the calculations.

The guards and servants had the night off. They were alone.

No matter his words about caretaking and collecting, holding a sentient creature against their will was still kidnapping, and though the police might turn a blind eye to someone with as much power, money, and prestige as this hemulen, well, there were limits.

But considering he was the only captive here, that he was a mumrik and vagabond, the way some police were, well...

“Hello!” a voice caroled out, echoing through the house. “You have my husband, and if you don't let him go and give him back, I'm going to be very put out!”

Joxter's mouth dropped open. That was...but...he'd never heard Mymble sound like that before, still cheerful but with an edge that said clearly the cheerfulness was a cover for her true feelings.

The hemulen glanced at Joxter again, still debating and calculating what would happen if he answered the door, if he let her stay out there and hope she would decide she had the wrong house and leave.

The knocking sounded out again. “I'm not leaving,” she sang out. “I know you're both in there.”

The hemulen snarled, snatching up Joxter's leash and storming from the office. Joxter scrambled to his feet, stumbling after for the first few steps to catch up.

The hemulen clipped the leash to a hook in a room off the doorway, too short for Joxter to do much but stand near it, unable to reach it to unhook it. “Stay here,” he ordered. As if Joxter had much choice.

The door shut with a click behind him, and the window opened a moment later, three of Mymblemamma's children slipping through it.

“Mamma was right!”

“Hurry, get the leash!”

“I'm going to give him such a biting!”

Joxter laughed, softly, picking up the smallest child as the other two climbed the wall so all three of them could work at the leash.

The one in his arms unclipped it from the hateful collar while the other two got it from the wall, and Joxter had a feeling it was going to be destroyed within the day.

Outside, he could hear the hemulen speaking, and he cracked open the door to see the hemulen had done the same to speak to Mymblemamma outside.

“Madam, I can assure you there are no husbands here,” he was saying waspishly. “If you don't leave I will have no choice but to call the Constable.”

“Nonsense!” Mymblemamma declared, giving the door a shove.

The hemulen had either underestimated her strength or her casual disregard of the rules of society, staggering back from the force.

Joxter leapt forward, the chain between his paws looping over the hemulen's head. Getting it over that snout was a momentary difficulty, but with how the hemulen was wiggling, it happened quickly.

The hemulen squawked and yelled as Mymblemamma pushed the door closed behind her. “There you are, kitten!” she said brightly. “We were worried when you didn't meet our son at the next town over, like you promised.” She glared at the hemulen for the “Your son!” he let out. “That is why he didn't come along. That was a fight and a half, you're lucky those friends of his have very efficient puppy eyes that he's still weak to. You've been late before, but not when you promised by a certain time.” Her eyes narrowed further as she took in details of his appearance, her eyes traveling from head to toe, taking in the strange clothes, the collar, the shackles on wrist and ankle and the chains connecting them, in rare anger.

“...kitten, are those...?” she asked slowly.

“There's a cage, too,” he snarled. “It's been a rough week.”

“Why...?” she demanded of the hemulen.

To Joxter's surprise, the hemulen managed a glare back. “You have no idea how rare he is! Rare things of beauty need to be kept safe!”

Mymblemamma blinked a few times before smirking. “Well, he is a beauty...” she said.

“Sunshine, please.” Joxter was blushing as he never had when the hemulen called him lovely, and knew Mymblemamma was enjoying how she could still fluster him.

“Let him go, kitten,” she said. Joxter snarled, and he tapped his nose gently. “Trust me.”

Reluctantly he eased the chain back over the hemulen's head.

The hemulen adjusted his cravat. “Well, very good of you to see seeeeense!” the last word was a squeal as Mymblemamma lifted him up by the front of his clothing, slamming him against the wall.

“The keys?” she asked, almost pleasantly. Around her, the children shouted and chanted for the keys, having hung back and settling for glaring at the hemulen until now.

“How dare...!” the hemulen tried, yelping as she shook him. “I'll have the constable on you!” he said again.

“For rescuing someone you held captive?” Mymblemamma asked with a smile. “Are they that deep in your pocket?” The hemulen didn't answer, and she shook him again. “The keys?”

The hemulen dug into his pocket, slowly holding out a ring of keys. Mymblemamma took them, holding them out to Joxter.

He knelt, working through keys as the children crowded him. They snatched up each shackle as it fell, hurrying them over to their mother.

Who lowered the hemulen just enough for her children to snap the shackles onto him.

The collar was last, and Joxter stood, rubbing at neck and wrists, at the phantom sensations of bindings that were left. He nuzzled against Mymblemamma's side, going up on tiptoe for a brief, promising, thankful kiss.

“The cage?” she murmured. “And where's your hat? Your clothes?”

Joxter grinned at her, a quick, angry thing. Turning, he led the way deep into the manor, into the vault that had been his prison, as Mymblemamma dragged the hemulen behind her.

The chains still hung in the cage, and Mymblemamma was quick to catch what had happened, shoving the hemulen into the cage and locking the shackles to the chains and the cage door behind her as the hemulen ranted and raved.

“You can't do this!” the hemulen cried as Mymblemamma stood, the hemulen on his knees in the cage, chained just as Joxter had once been.

“Why not? You did,” she answered calmly.

The children ran rampant, and there was more than one crash as something fragile and valuable fell victim to their rampage. Two of them hurried up after a few minutes, Joxter's hat and proper clothes in tow.

Mymblemamma smiled on her children, praising them for finding them so quickly before she turned and led the way from the vault, ignoring the shouting from behind her.

“Someone is coming soon, aren't they?” she asked once the vault was closed behind them.

“In the morning,” Joxter answered with a shrug.

Mymblemamma tossed the keys in the air, catching them. “Well. Serve him right. I think I'll be keeping these. Come here, kitten,” she said, pulling the purring Joxter close for a proper kiss, snuggling him close as the children either cheered or gagged around them.

She picked him up a moment later, carrying him out the door as he laughed.

“Thank goodness you got here,” he murmured into the collar of her coat as she carried him along. “I was starting to lose hope. I know it wasn't long, but...he was prepared for me. Mumriks fade when we lose hope of getting free.”

“Don't,” Mymblemamma said firmly. “Because Joxter? You promised. So we know you're coming home, and if you don't, we'll come find you. Sooner or later, one of us is always going to find you. So don't you ever fade on me.”

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, giggling as he nuzzled her and the purr kicked up a notch. “Have a nap, my kitten. I'll wake you when we're home.”

And, snuggling down into his beloved Mymble's arms, finally free and safe, Joxter did just that.


End file.
